Nihil stood within the silent Alchemical Archives, Lord Theronius's journal in his hand. Every word within it was poison, enough to destroy a Great House from within. A cold rage burned within him—rage on behalf of Zarthus, on behalf of the original Nihil, on behalf of the entire Nocturne bloodline that had suffered for centuries due to greed and betrayal.
But Heze's mind quickly took over. Rage is an inefficient emotion. This isn't about revenge. It's about leverage.
Taking the entire journal out would be a foolish and risky move. He needed evidence, not an artifact.
He produced a blank sheet of parchment he always carried and placed it on the table. He opened the journal to the most incriminating pages. He laid his palm over the blank parchment.
[Using Atom Manipulation. Application: Reorganization of Carbon Particles.]
[Target: Replicate the Ink Pattern from the Source.]
[Capacity: 40/40 -> 30/40]
This was an extremely complex process, draining his concentration to the limit. Beneath his palm, carbon particles from the blank parchment began to move, rearranging themselves into handwriting identical to Theronius's. A perfect forgery, undetectable even by magic because physically it was a document rewritten from the original.
After copying three key pages, he returned the original journal to the chest, locked it, and repaired the lock mechanism he had destroyed with another Atom Manipulation, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.
Exiting the Alchemy Wing was far more nerve-wracking. He knew every shadow could hide a patrol. As he turned a corner in a dimly lit corridor, he nearly collided with a group of Student Guards. At their head walked Sir Tristan the Valiant.
"Nihil," said Tristan, his voice sharp and full of suspicion. "Curfew has long passed. What business brings you to the Alchemy Wing at this hour?"
Nihil had prepared his lie. He bowed slightly, showing the respect he knew was valued by a straightforward knight like Tristan. "Sir Tristan. I am carrying out a task from Headmistress Alina. She asked me to retrieve inert crystal dust samples from Master Corvus's laboratory for her personal research."
Tristan narrowed his eyes. The story sounded odd, but plausible given Nihil's unique status. "A task in the middle of the night?"
"The Headmistress said the samples are most stable when not exposed to sunlight," Nihil replied smoothly. "I can show you her assignment letter if necessary." Of course, there was no such letter, but it was a calculated risk.
Tristan hesitated for a moment. Challenging a direct order from the Headmistress was a serious offense. "Not necessary," he said finally, though reluctantly. "Continue with your business. But I will confirm this with the Headmistress tomorrow morning."
"Of course," said Nihil. "Good night, Sir Tristan."
He walked past them, feeling Tristan's sharp gaze on his back. He had until morning before his lie was exposed. He needed to move quickly.
He didn't return to his dormitory. He went to the meeting spot he had previously arranged with Silas. Under the old bridge spanning the academy river, the student information broker was waiting.
"Do you have it?" asked Nihil.
"Of course," Silas hissed, handing over a small scroll. "Princess Selene's personal patrol schedule and routes for the next week. Very difficult to obtain. The price..."
Nihil didn't care about the price. He gave Silas a pouch of coins. Then he gave him a message. "I need you to send an anonymous message to one of Princess Selene's personal servants. Not a threat. Not a request. Just two words."
"What two words?" asked Silas, his eyes gleaming with intrigue.
Nihil gazed toward the distant palace. "Archon Zarthus."
Silas grinned broadly. He didn't know what the name meant, but he knew he had just been paid to ignite a very large fire. "Consider your message sent."
Silas vanished into the darkness. Nihil stood alone under the bridge. He had cast his bait. He had sent a signal to the most powerful chess player at the academy that he held a piece capable of toppling a king.
Now, he just needed to wait for the princess's reaction.
In the cold, dark cell beneath the Defiled Cathedral, Velka Nocturne stared at the woman before her. Sister Morwen, one of Ravenna's lieutenants, smiled cruelly.
"The Weaver did not betray you, noble girl," said Morwen, her melodious voice contrasting with the horror of the situation. "He is merely a merchant. And we offered a better deal. We erased all his network's debts in the Dead District. In return, he simply needed to ensure a curious little crow followed the breadcrumbs we left."
Velka backed up until her spine hit the stone wall. So this had been a trap from the beginning.
"My brother..." whispered Velka. "You want him."
Morwen laughed. "Your brother is merely a key. A bright light to draw the world's attention, and more importantly, to draw yours. The ancient prophecy never lies. Blood from the 'Silent Crow' is the true vessel. Your brother is the catalyst, but you... you are the sacrificial altar and the goddess who will rise simultaneously."
Two burly acolytes entered the cell, seizing Velka's arms. She tried to resist, but her physical strength was no match. They dragged her out, through secret tunnels she hadn't even known existed.
They arrived at the Cult's new headquarters, an extensive catacomb complex beneath the Dead District. There, in an emergency throne room, Ravenna Cruor awaited her.
Upon seeing Velka, Ravenna smiled. Not the fanatical smile she had shown Nihil. This was the smile of an artist who had finally found her masterpiece. "Perfect," she whispered. "You have your mother's eyes."
"What do you want with me?" hissed Velka, trying to hide her fear.
"Want?" Ravenna seemed amused. "Oh, my child. I do not want anything from you. I will give you everything. Eternity. Purpose. The chance to cleanse this filthy world and start anew from the holy silence. You will become the mother of our new world."
"I would rather die," replied Velka.
"Death is a release for the weak," said Ravenna. "Your destiny is far more grand." She signaled to her followers. "Take her to the Purification Chamber. Begin the preparation ritual. Ensure she is comfortable. The sacred vessel must not crack before it is filled."
Velka was dragged into a room that resembled a small temple more than a prison. The door was made of solid stone. There were no windows. In the center of the room stood a small altar and a bed. On the altar, the acolytes placed the item she had taken from the cathedral: the silver music box.
"Your first gift," said Morwen before leaving the room. The heavy stone door closed with a DENTUM, locking her alone in the suffocating silence.
Velka collapsed onto the bed, desperation threatening to consume her. She was alone. Trapped. No one knew where she was. Her brother, her father, they would never find her.
She stared at the silver music box on the altar. The trivial object that had caused all this. Driven by a mix of anger and sorrow, she took it. She opened it, expecting a sweet melody.
Instead, a series of strange and dissonant tones began to play. The melody felt wrong, unharm. But as the notes filled the room, Velka witnessed something impossible.
The faint protective runes etched around the stone door... began to flicker unstably, as if disturbed by the strange frequencies from the music box.
Velka stopped breathing.
The music box.
It was not bait. The Weaver had not fully betrayed her.
It was a key. A hidden message. A weapon smuggled directly into the heart of the enemy's lair.
Hope, no matter how small, flickered anew within her terrified heart. She wound the music box again, this time listening carefully, trying to understand the secret language of the broken melody. The game was not yet over.